Solferino
by Aioli
Summary: Only broken by the bright sunrise; your smile, your laugh and a smear on a canvas. Itacest.


**AN: And so begins my very first fic ever. I apologize if it is eye-burning or anything like that.**

**I was initially inspired by a single word, which eventually led to me write this and initiate my uhm, entrance into the ~world of FanFic~. Or something.**

**I forgot to mention- Solferino is a name for a colour. 'Vivid purplish pink.' Hope that clears up any confusion.**

**Thankyou to The Dollhouse Queen for her lovely editing and being magical in general. :)**

**Enjoy?**

**Edit/ Went back and fixed a few errors.**

_Spurt._

"And what is this colour, ve?"

There he was again, with that incessant wagging voice of his. It was always so eager, so attentive, just like a goddamn puppy. One of the sorts that demanded constant attention or else they would piss all over your stuff in an act of defiance. The cheerful nation did it on purpose, because he knew that people would react to it in such amusing ways.

It was_ adorable._

"It's purple, you colour-blind moron, and it'll be the colour of your nose if you don't move it out of my goddamn way."

He was not really angry, as Feliciano could tell. The flush on his face betrayed his pernicious attitude, but he waved his palette around just the same. The colours on the wooden board seemed to meld together into an abstruse blur that was not unlike the shade hemming his cheeks. Sort of red with frustration and anger.

Otherwise,_ adorable._

_-x-_

Despite wanting to keep his nose in things, Feliciano moved away to inspect the picture.

"What's the picture of?"

Lovino didn't answer, he just snapped his head around to give the other this _look_ that translated to something along the lines of: _What the hell, you've been watching me paint this thing for the past damn week and you still don't get it-_

"Take a guess." Feliciano barely caught the mumbled 'shithead' under his breath as his brother stirred his brush in a dirty cup. Its water was no longer a vibrant shade, but something akin to the colour of stale vomit.

Not that he recognized the colour or anything.

"Well..."

Lovino leaned his head to side nonchalantly, allowing Feliciano to get a better look without his curl bouncing in the way. His eyes faced the window, almost as if he was afraid to see Feliciano's reaction.

'_Sometimes Lovino can be so silly,'_ Feliciano thought _'as if his picture wouldn't be anything less than wonderful.'_

It was a plethora of strokes that make up a tangerine sky, intermingled with soft clouds in many different shades from pastel pinks to lilac, depicting a vivid sunset. There was nothing about this that said '_Renaissance_', no perfect, idealized figures, or religious overtones. What it lacked in scientific perfection it made up for with pure _emotion_. The palette knife had been used to form rough textures, something Feliciano could never do, but somehow Lovino made it work without making it look too _french_.

As his eyes trawled the canvas, the colours seemed to fade and wax into the empty, unpainted space at the bottom. It seems that while Lovino had been methodically painting the sky, attempting to preserve each cloud into wispy pink perfection, he had neglected to paint the rest.

Still sketched in pencil were what appeared to be the crude shape of two figures with their back to the viewer.

Lovino's skills when it came to depicting people were still a little rusty, and it was sort of hard to tell where one person ended and the other began. Or perhaps that was the intention. Lovino's style had such an impressionistic flair. However, the sketchy figures looked kind of sad to Feliciano, like they were all alone, abandoned together.

It made him feel lonely.

-x-

"Ve~! It's two people watching the sunset of course!"

Lovino smirked. His artistic skills were improving- even his dead weight of a brother could tell what was going on.

"But..." Feliciano's voice piped up, hesitant.

_But? _Was there some sort of glaring omission with his work? Would he have to snap at his brother and go off on a tangent about the intricacies of fine art, simply because Feliciano had forgotten that other styles existed beyond his god-damned_ renaissance_-

"The people, why haven't they been painted?" The younger Italian pondered, circling the figures with his finger, making sure not to touch the wet paint higher on the canvas. Lovino twitched. Not only was his art being questioned, his personal space was being invaded at the same time.

"Because I haven't gotten there yet, dumbass." Honestly, sometimes his _fratello _could be as thick as a plank.

"No, no, no, I mean, you've made the sky all beautiful, but the people..." his voice wavered. "You haven't even touched them! Ve, I mean, it looks like you're too busy making the sky all pretty and just leaving them there, all alone!"

_Erk._

Lovino jerked around, dealing his _fratello _a thwack with the brush he had in hand and forming a lovely lavender blotch between his eyes, causing Feliciano to squeak in surprise and wipe at the bridge of his nose madly. What had he done? He didn't _think _he said anything weird!

"Che! Well maybe I don't _want _to finish them yet, especially with yappy critics like you hanging around making stupid comments!"

Oh, he had struck a nerve alright.

Feliciano waved his hands in protest, trying to make sense of the angry Italian now brandishing his art supplies at him with an irate vigor. Confusion welled up within his chest at the sight of the hurt in Lovino's eyes, a lucid flush pallid on his skin.

"Uwaah, don't be angry!" He tried to stand his ground but the indignant brunette managed to herd him away from the canvas.

"Just go away, okay, leave me alone and find some fucking pasta to roll around in or something!"

The last part was hurried as he pushed the protesting bundle of his brother out the door and into the hallway, slamming the offending piece of wood in his face. His angry stomps back to the easel resonated through the door.

Feliciano stood, somewhat shocked, but not really surprised at his brother's outburst. It was a Lovino thing that he had come to be familiar with over many years.

However, seeing him go from his usual indignant self to a livid atrocity over a painting (which, _in hindsight_, didn't seem like a very strange thing for someone such as his _fratello _to do) boded as a strange occurrence to the flustered nation. Why was he so wrought up? He was simply curious, after all.

Taking a second to pause and press his ear to the wood, he internally debated whether to return inside and face the fiery aftermath of South Italy. Like the shifting embers of a pyre, Lovino had a tendency to flare and cool at a moments notice. However upon hearing the audible thumps and curses through the door told Feliciano that he had definitely _not _cooled down, and that perhaps the best idea was to leave him to his own devices, for now at least.

With a small sigh, he decided that Lovino's suggestion of pasta was not entirely invalid, and trudged away in search of a familiar bowl of his favourite food.

-x-

Lovino fully expected his sibling to burst back in, claims of 'hugs' and other nonsense spilling from his lips along with his other usual psychobabble. But instead the nation was greeted with silence, not even the tell-tale sign of Feliciano's trademark "Veeee..." as he presumably sidled away to do whatever he usually did.

That was a little weird.

Scowling, Lovino stomped over to the canvas and eyeballed the scene with volatility, resisting the urge to throw his brush at it or something equally stupid like that.

It was all Feliciano's fault. It always was.

He slumped, twirling the tool idly in his hands, musing on how... how i_gnorant _Feliciano could be. The so called connoisseur of all things aesthete and artistic should of at least been able to decipher something as straightforward as his masterpiece. Weren't his intentions clear, with the vivacious colour choices juxtaposed by the entwined forms? _Certainly_ it shouldn't take anyone with half a brain to work out the amorous message he was attempting to convey.

_Amorous. _The word was foreign to the tongue, and the idea somewhat repulsive yet compelling to the mind. Lovino turned away from the canvas, body heated with the _notion _of such a thing. Of all subjects, of all feelings, something like _that _decided to rear it's godforsaken head and screw with him.

And for his _brother_, no less.

The warmth of those flutters within his heart, whenever Feliciano managed to slip his hand into his own, or the refreshing sound of his laugh were a comfort to Lovino. Feliciano was like his anchor, weighing him down and bringing him back to earth whenever he metaphorically shot away on the spaceship S.S Angerfest.

(Which was to say, very often.)

It wasn't that he didn't _like _how his face would heat whenever he was on the receiving end of one of those smiles. It was just that those smiles were also directed at everyone else also. Nor the frequent displays of affection which often left him feeling dizzy, especially with Feliciano's tendency to jump on people randomly.

Discarding these musings, he grabbed a stick of charcoal from the nearby stand, the black substance smudging on his fingers. He angrily scribbled a few lines on the figures, trying to recreate their most distinguishing features- the trademark mop of hair, with the titular curls.

...Well, that was what he was attempting to show anyway, except it ended up looking a smoky mess- like their brains were exploding into the warm scenery.

This really ticked off Lovino, and he chucked the offending stick at the door. _Why _was this so damn hard? Was he just over-complicating things by attempting to show his feelings through what he presumed to be his _fratello_'s beloved pastime? That stupid pasta-lover was up to his freaking ears in fancy art so he thought that maybe he would actually _understand_...

The canvas resembled the evening rays that poured through the window, bathing Lovino and the sparse room in golden light. The Italian turned to the glass, his body engulfed by the dying sun that framed the elegant buildings outside. It was an intense sight, something that he had attempted to capture the heat and passion of in his imagery.

With a sigh, he took one last look and faced the canvas, rubbing his eyes. He was going to get this right, dammit.

No matter what it takes.

-x-

Lovino growled and stormed out the meeting room, slamming the door behind him with a _bang! _World Conferences sucked _shit._ If it wasn't Spain being an oblivious dickhead and shoving tomatoes in his face (which usually wouldn't have mattered much, but now there were tomato seeds on a _very _expensive suit and Feliciano _ranted_ when expensive clothes got unnecessarily dirty), then it was the perverted French bastard trying to stick his hand's down Lovino's pants, or America insulting half the trice-cursed world in one speech, hence causing a miniature World War. Again.

And to top it all off, Feliciano was, once again, lavishing attention on the fucking potato bastard. Loudly.

In fact, he could practically hear him _purring _the damn kraut's name through the freaking door, making his stupid exclamations of wine or whatever the hell he was rambling about this time somewhat redundant.

It was all too much shit for the caustic Italian, and there only so much he could deal with in the space of time they had allotted for the meeting. The 'shit-o-meter' just so happened to past the maximum intake.

He didn't have to deal with those ingrates, anyhow, and it wasn't like they'd notice his dramatic exit in their cacophony. They didn't care.

Making it through the labyrinthine halls, his stride lessened a little now that he realized that he wasn't entirely sure where he would actually be going. Outside, presumably, where the air wasn't clogged by word spew and didn't eternally reek of sweat, tomatoes and garlic.

Somewhere where he could feel the sun, where the sky was wide and open above his head, and where the clouds lazily drifted on by without a care in the world.

Somewhere up high.

It was this notion which set his pace, as he left the building and jogged through the clandestine arteries of the city, not really caring where they took him.

-x-

With a pant, Lovino managed to roll over onto the terracotta shingles, coming face to face with the lowering sun and the empty expanse of the heavens above - with nary a peachy cloud, as if they all ran away when he arrived.

Well, that is what would of presumably happened, if there wasn't a grumpy looking cat in his face giving him the evils. It seemed very angry at having its nap interrupted by some random person who just happened to crawl up ont_o it_s roof.

"What the hell?"

Lovino pushed the offending feline away (to which it replied with a huffy growl) and proceeded to sit up with a twinge of dizziness. So maybe it wasn't exactly the best idea to sprint all the way too... wherever he was and then attempt to pull a Spiderman into this mighty beast's territory. In fact, it was a particularly stupid idea of his, for now he was most likely to get lost and it'll probably start getting dark soon and _oh my god what was he thinking._

At least the view was nice.

Where had the time gone? The sky was once again alight with vivid shades, present with delicate magenta and the riled carmine near the horizon, with the black silhouettes of the buildings creating a frame.

_Like me and him._

Stupid sky, reminding him of stupid Feliciano and his goddamn face. He shook his head, startling the cat again which had just managed to settle, which in turn caused Lovino to flinch and kick a shingle off the roof.

Oops.

It was this pageant that was his initial inspiration for the painting, although he wished he could share the actual sky with Feliciano. A painting couldn't really compare to being there with him in person. Although it wasn't as if Feliciano would spend time with him anyway, being strung around that potato bastard's little finger and all.

"Lovino!"

Suddenly, breathlessly running down the street was the younger Italian, cheeks ablaze. Fitness had never been his brother's strong point, but he was doggedly managing to sprint the last few yards.

(...As well as a man whose diet consists mainly of oil and carbohydrates could, anyway.)

-x-

Feliciano was in what could be considered a state of panic. He had left Lovino's side for one moment to say hello to Ludwig, and now his brother was gone! Antonio had told him that Lovino had left in a rush, looking angry, but Lovino always looked angry, so that wasn't much of a help at all!

What was the distraught nation to do? He had madly babbled his woes to his companions faces but they just dismissed his words as those of pithy, brushing it off as something he usually did. Plus, everyone seemed to tired or worn out to bother paying attention to him. So he did what any good brother would do, and took it into his own hands.

Which is how he found himself in this predicament.

He had questioned the strangers on the street as to if they had seen a loud-mouthed Italian (who was a bit of a douche) run past, and by following the haphazard directions seemed to have been led on a crazy chase through the alleys and roads. That, and he followed the tell-tale trail of destruction that Lovino had left in his wake, of course. He seemed to have a vehemence against flowers. And perfectly innocent street vendors. And ice-cream, preferably that belonging to little kids.

It was helpful that they were in Milan, and therefore Feliciano knew the streets quite well. But so did Lovino - who most likely, in his usual state of stubbornness and mafia-inspired paranoia, took a confusing route just to muck with any followers.

Feliciano rounded another corner, panting with the effort. Did Ludwig's training over the last sixty years have no effect on his fitness at all? As he stopped to take a shaky breath, his eyes roamed up towards the skyline above. The sun was fading behind the buildings, leaving it's final beams to alight the roofs overhead. It was a scene he had witnessed many times before, in many different places. The sky was the same one, covering all those countries, all those continents. So wouldn't the sunset be the same also? But upon seeing it, he was always left with a poignant feeling. It seemed that wasn't alone in his admiration though, as there was also a person on the buil-

_Hang on._

There was a shadowy shape, also looking out towards the sky. It wasn't just any person- that haughty posture, the tell-tale signs of a curl- it was his _fratello_, Lovino!

The brunette cocked his head. Why was Lovino up so high? He looked kinda lonely all up there- plus, it definitely did not look safe at all! Was he still mad from yesterday- it was hard to tell with him, since he was always so fiery. But at least he was found, now. They could go back and have some delicious pasta to share, because it always made everything better.

With new found energy, Feliciano began a steady pace down to where his brother had climbed, waving his hands frantically as only he could.

-x-

Lovino started at the sound of his name being called, looking down to see a very puffed Feliciano (almost to the point of crawling along the ground) trudging towards him. _Oh great_, just the person he wanted to see.

He jumped up with a jerk, heckled words instantly spouting from his mouth.

"What are _you_ doing here? Shouldn't you be kissing the ass of that potato bastard or something, or hanging out with those ingrates you call friends, huh?" _Spending time with them instead of me._

Feliciano looked surprised, pausing in his failing attempts to scale the edifice. It wasn't working to well. The ground was a better place to stay instead.

"Kissing? Ve, why would we be doing that?" His voice piped up with confusion from the alley below.

Lovino mentally face-palmed.

"Because, you pasta brain, it seems like it's him you spend all your goddamn life with! You two stuffing around doing... whatever you do together, always leaving me out in the cold!" Another shingle was booted off the roof. "Why is it always him you go to, why is it always him who has to clean up after you!"

Feliciano stared, blankly. What _was_ Lovino on about?

Meanwhile, the Italian's words continued, escalating in volume. "...I don't get it! He is as thick, as oblivious as a brick wall! He doesn't do anything for you, I'm sure he just thinks you are just another tool to be used!-"

Okay seriously, did he eat something bad or what?

"...Just like that other guy whose name I can't freaking remember-"

"Lovino?" Came the reluctant voice from below. It cut through his words, causing him to pause mid-rant. The cat, by now, had fled when the rain of roofing tiles descended from on high. Smart animal.

"Is this what it's all about? Germany and me?"

Silence.

"Why Lovi? Why didn't you just tell me earlier instead of bottling it all up?"

A pregnant pause.

"Because, maybe if you started paying attention to others, you may just learn that_ I _like _you_ much more than he does!"

Lovino chuffed, throwing his shoulders back. That should show him. After all, his logic was always flawless and infallible of course-

_HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE._

Did he just...?

Yes. Yes he did. Blurting out_ those words_ for the entire world to hear.

It hadn't meant to slip out, he was on a tangent and everyone knew that when he started on a rant he would never stop-unless it meant coming to a grinding halt and _what the hell did he just do. _

The sputtering Italian, face aflame, shakily glanced over the edge in attempt to gauge his brother's reaction. Maybe it just went right over his head, right? He probably had zoned out half-way into some sort of daydream about food, which was a Feliciano thing he would most likely do...

Biting his lip, he sought Feliciano's eyes, looking into the deep afternoon shadows. His heart was racing, having accelerated to some insane speed in the space of 0.3 seconds. But there he was, standing there stock still, confusion written all over his face as his two-bit brain attempted to churn the sudden influx of information.

And this, to Lovino, was a sign that the news had either A) gone over his head or B) actually caused him to use his brain for once. He went with the latter. The younger Italian was probably disgusted with him, thinking that he resorted to something so low - comparing himself to Germany who was obviously the pinnacle of all things strong and potato-flavoured. And his brother, of all people- suddenly declaring his true feelings from a rooftop! The notion was probably too much, too out there, too _Lovino._

The nation screwed up his face, turning on his heel and making a beeline for the other side, for some place that was anywhere but_ here. _He had fucked up badly and just wanted to be out of there, to avoid the look of rejection that Feliciano would unavoidably give him. To feel that refusal, that dismissal from someone as close as his brother would be...

Stupid Feliciano, stupid Germany, stupid stupid _stupid!_

But who was disappointed most of all?

_Stupid, goddamn, freaking Lovino._

_-_x-_  
><em>

Feliciano was not as stupid as he acted. Sure, he was well aware that he was a bit of a airhead, and he needed looking after a lot, but he wasn't stupid. He knew how Ludwig felt about him. Of course, that might have also been because Germany had actually _told_ him how he felt, but still. He was smart enough to know he didn't feel the same way. He did love Germany- as a friend of course! But Germany loved him in a different way...and apparently Lovino did too?

Aah, confusing. All these feelings, and everything, and everyone, were too confusing to the younger Italian. All he wanted was for something to make sense, for things to go back to start before all this started, when it was just him and Lovino having a nice time together. (Well, nice in his definition, probably not in Lovino's, who would of grumbled or whatever most of time.) But that was just his _fratello_, his Lovino being himself.

_His _Lovino who had just run off in a state of self-induced... anger? He was always verily irate about something in this world, and this wasn't any different, no?

But it was. This time it _was_ different. It wasn't like those times, those hazy memories that often surfaced of his childhood when he was in his usual pasta-induced daze. Like when Lovino would run off because he saw his sibling being favoured by Grandpa Rome over himself. Then afterward when Feliciano would follow the sound of his brother's sniffles and find him huddled in some corner somewhere, crying and mumbling to himself about nonsensical things. Often he would try to console his brother, even if back then he didn't really understand his problems. They could solve them by being together, right? There wasn't nothing a little charisma couldn't solve?

But even after he offered his words of comfort he was often at the brunt of his brother's sharp tongue, attacked with insults from all sides. The favourite, the suck-up, he was called. He was accused of using his ditzy personality to meddle with others feelings, to draw all attention towards him. This wasn't true, surely not at all! But this was what Lovino insisted.

His accusations... they were built on _lies._

When Lovino would stop, and his voice settling to a dull hum, Feliciano would grab his hand and gently embrace his _fratello. _Sometimes Lovino would start, and raise his hand as if to bat Feliciano away. But then... then he would reconsider and look at his feet. They would sit there in a strange silence, and Lovino would sometimes think how nothing would make a difference. That him and Feliciano would always be like this.

Apples and oranges.

Oil and water.

As for Feliciano... he could of argued back if he really wanted too. But instead he chose to _show_ his brother, _show _him that none of that was he would always be there despite whatever he said, whatever anyone else thought. Because they were brothers, and what they had was based on love, not lies, not jealousy.

_Love._

Despite everything his brother had said... All that slander which Feliciano had just considered as a quirk of his brother's- was now reversed? Despite his brother's preachings, how Feliciano was an idiot, how Feliciano hung out with people like _Germany _and was not afraid to talk to that creeper _Spain... _That was now just... superfluous? Trivial? Something else entirely?

Feliciano grappled at his head. It was too hard to think about that now. Grandpa Rome had oft in past told them both that when dealing with this stuff to think with their emotions, not their brain. He knew that him and Lovino were both skilled at acting upon impulse. So what he should do is...

_Show _him. _Follow _him.

And like that, just like in those days where they both were blissfully ignorant and unaware, he set out again to find his _fratello, _to once again discover him in a state. To once again be the voice, or more rather presence of reason to his arbitrary brother.

But this time he wasn't going to leave things as they were. He wouldn't just use a few touches and hope that some part of Lovino would change for the better, and then let the cycle repeat itself.

Because he knew that Lovino _had _changed. Somehow, someway, his brother had found something new, something that he couldn't possibly contain. Something that required two people- something that required one _Feliciano Vargas. _One _Italia Veneziano._

He understood now.

-x-

When Lovino creaked open the door, he was greeted with a musty smell, and a dim room that had a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains.

Understandable, since he hadn't come up here or touched the painting ever since the day earlier. It was probably gaining dust over in the corner. As he sidled through the dark he could feel a lone paintbrush roll underneath his feet. It was surprisingly unbroken from the beating he had given it before. Huh.

As for the painting itself, so what if he didn't want to see it anymore? What good do it do for him? It was a completely idiotic idea in the first place and he should of just done something else constructive with all that time he had wasted on it. Like throwing a big, rotten, worm-filled tomato at Spain's fat face. Or France's.

The nation chuckled darkly at the thought.

"Stupid picture." He chucked the paintbrush at the canvas for the heck of it. It bounced off with a dull _thwak!_

Usually something like this would of ticked him off, but for some reason the Italian didn't care. He was sick and tired of seeing it. Tirelessly, every day, trying to capture that god-damned moment forever in picture-perfect painted eternity. Tired of seeing those two figures at the bottom, sharing each other's company while he was stuck on the outside. Never seemingly able to reach that far-away goal.

It … it made him feel kinda pathetic. And this didn't bode well for someone like him, who was _always _correct and in-control. To be reduced to this mess who was totally _not _sulking on the floor while tossing his art supplies at the canvas was an anomaly, to say the least.

He could feel his chest heave and tumble as a shudder wormed through his body. Glaring as fitfully as he could at the canvas unfortunately did not seem to dent it. Instead he found that his vision had begun to blur, turning everything into a deep blue sea. And like a single wave, a drop of warmth sailed down his cheek. It hung for a few seconds on his chin before falling to the floor below. There is disappeared into the darkness at his feet.

Well, at least Feliciano wasn't here to see him rapidly wiping his eyes-

_Feliciano._

The mention of name made the nation bristle and grit his teeth. An idiot, that's what he was, for thinking someone like _him_ would understand or care. He was probably skipping around with his two lackeys and getting up to various capers and hijinx. For a nation that was professed to have a large knowledge of love, he didn't really know _shit._ Because it seemed that Feliciano had just gotten the 'affection' part down... and not anything else. Hadn't he learned at all, over all these years? To open his eyes for once and take a look the people's faces around him. To see the emotions reflected in their eyes, the subtle hunch and twists of their bodies...

Why was he so... why was so _Feliciano?_

Why. Such a difficult question. Lovino, attempting to stifle the stupid whines he was making with his hand, choose to focus on something different. A question that was probably easier to answer.

_What. _What was he supposed to do now? Sit on the floor forever and cry like a pathetic child who didn't get something he wanted?

Actually, yeah, he might as well do that.

Well, what he wanted was... to binge on some pasta. Or comfort food, and perhaps go sulk on his bedroom while reading some trashy novels and generally mulling how sorry he felt for himself. Part of him was complaining that he should man up and go confront the younger Italian, to stop mulling over feelings that didn't really matter to someone like him, a nation. The other, conflicted half, wanted to curl up and stuff his face with tomatoes.

Tomatoes always made everything better. While they weren't exactly sentient, they provided goodness in their juicy flesh. Taking the first bite always made him feel refreshed as their liquids dripped down his chin, and often on to his chest-

Lovino started, a flush spreading across his face. He- he hadn't meant for his thoughts to come out _that way. _At least the thought of uh, tomatoes had stopped the onset of tears, sort of. He rapidly pawed at his raw eyes in a vain attempt to remove the evidence. But the lingering wetness was still sitting on the floor. He avidly tried to wipe this also. Tomatoes, yes- he would go grab some and find a place that was _not _a dark and kind of cold place, where his brother wouldn't try finding him. Feliciano could be kind of persistent sometimes though, where would there be a place where-

_Tap._

Lovino froze mid-scrabble.

_Tap tap tap._

Oh god, oh god, there were sounds coming from downstairs.

"_Vee..."_

He was here, finally, and was probably scoring the kitchen for any signs of Lovino. Which was going to be sort of easy because when the older brother had rampaged through earlier he had, yet again, left a trail of mess behind him. Various eating utensils, chairs and even a bookcase had been overturned in his wake. He had diligently made sure to remove all the knives from the drawers and he had thrown them... at the _wall._

"Shitshitshitshit-" Lovino made a mad dash on all fours to get to the door. The room was still shrouded in darkness, but by the now his eyes had gotten used to it. The only thing that _did _hinder him was all the paintbrushes, erasers and the like that he had thrown at the canvas. Most had bounced off and landed all over the floor, and they repetitively stabbed him on his legs. He swept them all out of his way with his palm.

"_Vee... he made such a mess!"_

Feliciano's voice was pretty audible through the floorboards, albeit rather muffled. Lovino could hear him attempt to make a start on cleaning the mess, but he seemed to relent. There was an idle _twang_ as he plucked a knife from the wall.

Feliciano with a knife.

That was_ not _a very comforting thought.

Lovino's back slammed against the wooden door, and he braced himself against it. There was really no escape from this room- as much he would like to just jump out the window it happened to be on the second storey. He wasn't going to admit this, but jumping from a window, high up, into the blackness below was scary thought. A much more rational one was to brace the door and hope when Feliciano came he would just ignore it. Or something. Plus, in an attempt to run back over to the other side he would just trip over all the junk on the floor.

"_Oh well, he must be upstairs..."_

Was he still carrying the knife?- Lovino hadn't heard him drop it. Not like he would _do _anything with it, but his brother had a habit of being clumsy (and Lovino didn't like being near _anyone _with weapons. The Mafia was a strong influence). He would be swinging his arms around jovially, and then the next minute the knife would be flying straight into the door...

The wood was smooth under his fingertips. Smooth under his fists that gripped his only protection, turning the flesh between his knuckles white. Maybe if he timed it right, he could slam the door in his brother's face and make a run for it. That sounded like a good plan.

The minutes stretched on as Lovino listened intently through the door. Feliciano was now slowly ascending the stairs, which creaked underneath his weight. His little chants of "Ve" or whatever he was babbling on about resonated through the halls.

This was definitely not what Lovino had expected. His previous mood had evaporated, replaced by anxiety and anxiousness. Honestly, while he was still very much tempted to take a leap of faith out the window (not), a curious urge in him wanted to see... to see Feliciano's face again. He needed a second look at that expression which had took his heart and idly chucked it in a blender. For lack of a better word.

The footsteps were growing closer, with a purpose. Feliciano's voice filled the silence, but there was something missing in his usual cheer. While his words still carried the same meaning he seemed... almost distant. Like he was reading off a script instead of speaking his mind. Lovino took this as a sign that he was thinking about something, which was an activity the younger nation never really seemed to engage in. (That was the impression he gave everyone else, anyway. Lovino knew the idiot did think, even if it was just on occasion.)

"_Fratello?_" Came a meek voice from behind the wood. Crap! He was too busy thinking about his stupid brother and hadn't heard him come up the hall. Of course Feliciano had chosen to be quiet for once at a completely inopportune time.

Lovino let his weight against the door slip a little. Strangely, Feliciano had not tried to turn the knob or even make an attempt to open it yet. Instead he seemed to occupied with something else. There was a scrabbling noise, a few dull thumps and...

The slick blade of the knife neatly slid through the gap in the side of the door.

It a took a few seconds for this to process in the elder Italian's head before he leapt up, and threw himself as far away from the door as possible. The reflective steel had perfectly caught the moonlight, looking rather strange as it appeared to be a silver shard growing from the wall.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" The infuriated nation spat as he waved his hands at the door. The knife only jiggled in response, and then vanished back through the crevice. Lovino continued freaking out, awkwardly standing poised as if he was going to leap away at any second (which he was, if he saw that knife again!). "WERE YOU TRYING TO BUTCHER ME ON THAT THING? YOU SHOULD OF GODDAMN WELL KNOCKED BEFORE PULLING A STUNT LIKE THAT!"

"Well..." Came an amused reply, one that caused Lovino to pause without a hitch. The door hesitantly cracked open a few inches, smothering the darkness with a vibrant honey glow from the lights in the hall. Feliciano's curl peeked through, before the door was widened. "I knew that I couldn't of made you open it any other way, Lovino. So I had too!"

His soft smile was masked in shadow, but the flare from behind gave him an ethereal golden aura. It didn't last long however, because he discarded the emanation to step into the gloom. Lovino backed away towards the wall, but Feliciano was diligently replicating his steps with equal ones of his own.

The elder brother was choked by the tension- and his heart still wouldn't stop thumping from the experience with the knife. His mouth was dry, and any words that he could of used died in his throat. Because he wasn't ready- the scene from earlier keep replaying in his head, and when he saw Feliciano's face now the night moulded it into the same blank one from before. A thousand interjections came to mind, but he couldn't find the syllables to give them shape or form.

He touched the wall underneath his hands. Feliciano had him backed into a corner like a scared little animal. He was drawing closer, but taking his time. Measuring his steps against his breathing. Inhale. Exhale.

"I know you well, _fratello._" A pencil rolled underneath his toe. "And I do notice things!"

The nation bent down to pick it up, momentarily raising an eyebrow.

"You may not know that..."

He rose.

"Germany may not know that."

Another step.

"But I understand."

The pencil's broke tip found itself pointed at Lovino's general direction. To this, the nation recoiled slightly. In the silence that followed Lovino realized that his brother was probably waiting on a reply. He seemed to show no hesitance from behind the deformed pencil lead.

"What..." Lovino managed to sputter out. "What the heck are you talking about, you idiot! Do you even understand any of the stuff you're saying?"

Honestly, he couldn't get it either. Lovino just wished his brother would stop dodging around the subject and come out with it- just say it, tell him that _he _was the idiot for thinking that Feliciano could ever love him when he was probably too wrapped up in his thing with the potato-bastard. Hopefully Feliciano would let him down gently, and they would end this exchange and just... pretend it never happened.

Liquid pricked at his eyes. Humiliated again, and who could say that Feliciano probably wasn't enjoying this. Maybe he had wanted this all along - to see his brother suffer and writhe while he gained satisfaction. Revenge, for all those times in the past where Lovino had wronged him. For those times when Lovino had shouted, cursed, cried... for those times when he had ran, and left Feliciano alone.

Because after all that, Lovino had the nerve to reverse all of those words and offenses by suggesting that.. suggesting like he liked Feliciano a little bit more than before. To _scorn _him.

Was that the final nail in the coffin?

Feliciano could see Lovino crumbling, as his brother searched desperately for some sort of sign in Feliciano's stance. He could see some of the moonlight reflected in the viscous liquid near his eyes. His smile didn't break however, and he decided that there was a better way to get through to Lovino.

So he threw down the pencil, grabbed Lovino by the shoulders and crashed their lips together in a kiss.

At first Lovino stiffened, pawing at Feliciano's shoulders in attempt to remove him. But his protesting grew weak, because really, what was he objecting too? Feliciano's skin was soft against his own, a strong contrast to his chapped lips that still carried a tinge of salt. Okay, sure, this was incredibly weird, but he certainly didn't mind the way his brother's tongue teased his bottom lip in a gentle permission for entrance. He was patient that way, but rewarding in how he invaded Lovino's mouth when he parted it, putting up a fight against the wet muscle. They were both knowledgeable in this area, and neither seemed to want to let down as they moulded against each other, each vying for the upper hand.

Lovino's hand trailed up Feliciano's neck, winding itself within his brunette locks as he _finally _kissed back. The other hand found itself resting on his brother's waist, pulling him closer against Lovino's body. Feliciano's smile widened against Lovino's mouth, and he leaned inwards, shimmying _his _hands down to his brother's hips where he let his fingers rise and fall with their motions. The sensation wasn't all that foreign, and Lovino found himself following these movements, letting himself slide against the younger. Damn Feliciano, of all people, getting the upper hand. His brother's tongue was deft and often caught him off guard, and eventually Lovino had to lean his head to the side to draw in a hazy breath. The nation glanced through his lashes, gauging the other's reaction while trying to ignore how heated his face was getting.

Feliciano's lips curled upwards underneath the gloom, and he licked them, tasting the skin where Lovino had returned the kiss.

Lovino started a bit at this, and for a second looked as if he was about to say something. Feliciano put a finger on his mouth. Slowly, he trailed it the curvature of Lovino's bottom lip, hesitantly making feathery touches to the area underneath his chin. There he drew small circles, butterfly touches- just like those he had made on the empty canvas.

His actions were decided, but carried a hint of uncertainty. Lovino's eyes softened, taking his brother's acceptance and letting it bud in his chest, swallowing his pride. His body leaned into the touch, vying for the familiar hold. Feliciano still carried the scent of spices on his clothes, the stray trace of campion. It was strange, how the small things reminded Lovino of memories before- the white fabric flowing around his brother's ankles while the flower-petals were caught in the air. The look of surprise on his face when Feliciano had found Lovino huddled amongst their protective, delicate limbs. The way their heads bobbed in the breeze to announce his arrival.

Feliciano wiped a tear from his _fratello_'s cheek, letting the elder become lost in his embrace. There he shuddered, trying to hide his sniffles in Feliciano's shirt, letting it become wet and damp from his running nose. Gentle kisses and soft murmurs filled the silence, and even the younger nation found himself letting slip a few hitched breaths.

But neither were shedding tears of sadness. No, both were happy, both were _together._

Together. They were finally there now, and even though it would take time, both were willing to learn, to experiment. To let the bud bloom, blossom into the fiery sunrise that followed the long night.

Because sunrise and sunset both carried the same beginning and end. Even though they were separated by the long hours of day, they were still alike in ways incomprehensible. The same colours and vivid shades, from the tangerine sky to the pink wispy clouds. The same gentle sun which turned scalding in the afternoon. Hand in hand.

_solferino._

-x-_  
><em>

"Lovi, do you still want to use that colour?"

The two painters sat in front of the illuminated canvas on wooden stools, the light tinting them with yellow and white from the noon-light shining in from the window overhead. Both were hunched over the bottom of the easel, finishing the figures at the bottom with measured strokes. All that was needed were a few finishing touches.

"What do you mean?" The titular brother raised the brush to his eyes. It was an interesting mix of... what looked like grey and brown. If you could call it that. Somewhat like the colour of stale vomit.

Not that they knew what that colour looked like, or anything.

"Oh crap..." He washed the brush and it's vile contents in the water pot. The water somehow turned an even _worse _shade. Feliciano tittered at the face his brother was making - if looks could kill...

"What are you laughing at, huh?" Lovino grinned, flicking some of the water at the now panicking Italian. That was a new shirt he had only bought a week ago, when they were out together! And to add insult to injury, it just had so happened to be a _pale _colour, like freshly whipped cream.

"Uwah, don't do that! It'll get dirty!"

Lovino cackled, taking delight at the fuss his brother was making. He chose to continue flicking water at the flailing nation. His reaction was so amusing! However, Feliciano decided that enough was enough and quickly dashed out the door, the motion making his chair tip over.

"Hey, come back here!" Lovino called after him, laughing at how worked up Feliciano had gotten. He'd apologize, but he would have to chase him down now. Although that wouldn't be do hard, as the younger Italian had probably used this as an excuse to sneak into the kitchen and prepare some food for himself. In fact, Lovino could hear him walking around below, opening and closing cupboards and humming little songs.

He'd probably discarded the shirt too. Lovino smirked deviously.

While he took a breather, his eyes drifted back to the canvas that gleamed in a strange, ethereal way underneath the sunlight. Honestly, that wasn't the best thing as the light would fade the colours. But for now, it was okay. He was too damn lazy to move the thing. anyway. Or even get up to close the curtains.

But it was practically done, with the assistance of Feliciano's steady hand. The background was still a crazy mish-mash of every warm pigment under the sun, but it's admirers at the bottom of the canvas calmed the piece with their presence. Against the sky that frazzled with emotions, they lay interlinked, two halves of one whole.

Before Lovino left to 'console' his brother- (and Lovino's type of consolation was _always _succesful) he gave the picture one last look before moving to the door.

If their faces were visible they would of smiled back. Instead the brothers faced the sunset together, taking the glare in their stride.

Apples and oranges.

Oil and water.

Feliciano and Lovino.

_fin._


End file.
